The Strangest Night of Almost-Dr Bruce Banner's Life
by dysprositos
Summary: Before they met on the helicarrier, Tony and Bruce had met one time before. But neither of them remembers it. AU-ish.
1. 1997

Warnings: language.

Cheers to my beta buddy, irite; she's pretty much amazing.

This is kind of AU-ish, stretching the limits of probability a bit, so keep that in mind as you read. It's mostly just for fun.

I do not own The Avengers.

* * *

At one point, Bruce would have said that everyone was capable of learning physics, if they just tried hard enough. All it took was dedication and time, really, and if someone wanted to learn badly enough, they could. Anyone who said otherwise was just lazy.

Now, though, he was re-thinking that belief.

Okay, honestly he'd been re-thinking it for years, ever since he'd started teaching in his second year as a grad student. Now, he was getting really close to finishing his Ph.D and becoming "Dr. Bruce Banner," and he'd decided that teaching _really _wasn't going to be in his future, not if he could help it.

_It's really amazing_, he thought, looking down at the exam in front of him. _These answers make no sense_. _None_. _At all._

Because if you dropped an object from the top of a building, it would accelerate at 9.8 m/s/s. Thus, if it fell for more than one second, the velocity would have to be more than 9.8 m/s. Logically. But this guy was steadfastly insisting that, after falling for four seconds, the object in question was only traveling at 6.7 m/s.

Bruce couldn't even figure out where that number had _come _from so he could award partial credit. No, it looked like the kid had just picked a random number out of nowhere and written it down.

_This isn't even a hard calculation_, Bruce grumbled to himself. He'd been grading the exams from Dr. Kirkpatrick's introductory physics class for the last three hours, and he was nowhere near done. Undergrads panicked if they couldn't pick up their tests within twenty-four hours (and consequently peppered the professor with a slew of irritating inquiries), and Kirkpatrick had no qualms about pushing the grading off on Bruce and then ripping him a new one if he didn't finish ASAP.

So he was stuck in his office. On a Friday night. It's not like he had a date or anything, but still. It was _Friday night_. This went against the fundamental laws of the universe or something.

The worst part was that Kirkpatrick had shoved his grading off on Bruce because Caltech was hosting a conference (on the Future of Something or Other, Bruce hadn't really paid attention to the flyers since he knew he wasn't going to be invited). Tonight was sort of a mixer, and they'd managed to snag Tony Stark as the keynote speaker. At this very moment, 24 floors below him, Stark should be delivering his remarks. To be followed by cocktails. Apparently, it was supposed to be one hell of a soiree, as everything involving the young entrepreneur tended to be.

Bruce didn't really mind missing it, or Stark's lecture. On one hand, the guy was a genius, and, well, if 'the future' of anything was involved, Stark was probably the expert. Bruce had seen some of his publications, after all. But Bruce was pretty sure Stark was a class-A jerk, since he showed up in the news more often for screwing around than for doing anything _good_. He was a playboy, a risk-taker, and incredibly irresponsible. Everyone knew that.

But that wasn't really any of his business, Bruce knew. And he really needed to focus on these exams, if he wanted to get to leave at some point this weekend. So, with a sigh, Bruce pushed those thoughts away and reached for the cold cup of coffee at the corner of his desk.

It was empty.

_Of course it is, Banner, you've been sitting here for three hours_.

That didn't make it any less annoying.

With another sigh, Bruce stood and stretched. He wandered out of his office and into the reception area, where he and the other grad students kept their communal coffee pot. Bruce wasn't at all surprised to see that he was alone, all the other offices darkened behind their locked doors. It was 8:30 on a Friday night, for God's sake, of _course _everyone else had gone home already.

He also wasn't surprised to see that the coffee pot was empty. And in desperate need of washing. So he grabbed it, heading for the bathroom so he could rinse it out and get more water. The way he was going, he'd probably need a whole pot of coffee to get through the stack of exams waiting on his desk.

Bruce opened the door into the hallway and stepped out.

And stopped dead in his tracks.

Because Tony Stark, the man of the hour, was kneeling on the floor about six offices down the hall, puking into a garbage can.

He finished and wiped his mouth roughly on the sleeve of his probably immensely-expensive suit jacket before standing and swaying in place. He focused a very bleary gaze on Bruce.

They stared at each other for several seconds, before Bruce asked, "Shouldn't you be downstairs?" Bruce wasn't really the type to be impressed by celebrity, and Stark's appearance wasn't really all that impressive anyway. If Bruce wanted to watch immature jackasses puking, he could go to any of the bars around campus pretty easily. Mostly, Bruce found this situation annoying.

Tony took several more seconds to process Bruce's question. "Um. Maybe."

He did not look at all surprised that Bruce had recognized him.

"Looks like you made it to the cocktail hour all right." Bruce could smell the alcohol on him from several feet away, seeping from his pores, carried on his breath. "Why are you here?"

Tony snorted, leaning back against the wall. "Cocktails are _after _the speech. I was...pre-gaming. Anyway, I was outside, and I saw this was the only floor that still had a light on. I had to see what sad sack of shit was still chained to his desk after 8:00 on a Friday." He paused before asking, "Sad sack of shit. That you?"

It wasn't really very polite, but Bruce had certainly been called a lot worse. He answered levelly, "You could say that." He didn't ask what Stark had been doing outside—Bruce didn't even want to know.

"What're you doing?"

After the 'sad sack of shit' thing, Bruce wasn't really inclined to answer. In fact, his inclination was really more 'punch this asshole in the face.' Or at the very least, 'slam a door in his face.' So when he answered, "Grading papers," he wasn't sure why.

"On Friday?"

"Undergrads panic if they can't pick up their tests within 24 hours."

"Eh, fuck 'em." Tony grinned suddenly. "Literally, if you're into that kind of thing."

Bruce felt himself starting to blush. "That's really inappropriate—"

"Lighten up, man." Tony straightened from where he'd been leaning and pushed past Bruce roughly, into the main office. "Geez, they keep you in tight quarters. Which one's your closet? The one with the light on?"

Feeling his temper rising, Bruce turned and stalked behind the intruder, who'd made his way into Bruce's office. "Don't you have a speech to give or something?" Bruce slammed the empty coffee pot down on a nearby table hard enough to crack the bottom. He cursed softly. He usually wasn't _this_ testy (well, okay, maybe he was), but he felt _entitled _to his temper, given that it was, indeed, after 8:00 on a Friday night and this asshole was in _his_ office, _his _space, fucking up his plans to finish as quickly as possible and then get the hell out of there.

Tony waved a hand dismissively. "They'll wait." He giggled, plopping down into Bruce's chair. "Damn, that's uncomfortable. You should sue." His eyes traveled across Bruce's desk (which was spartan, and organized, and entirely devoid of personal items) and landed on the exam on top of the pile. He looked at it for a moment before cracking up. "Christ, this guy's a fucking moron. Half of this problem is in miles per hour and half is in meters per second." Tony grabbed the pen Bruce had been using to grade and, before Bruce could stop him, wrote a giant red 'F' on the front of the paper. "Hah!"

Despite the fact that Bruce had been tempted to do the same thing, he felt a flash of irritation. "Nice. Now I'll need to explain why there's white-out all over this kid's test—"

"Don't kid yourself, the 'F' can stay," Tony said easily. "This kid isn't going to pass." He looked at the front of the exam, where it had the professor's name and class number. "You Dr. Kirkpatrick?"

This time, Bruce snorted. "No. I'm just his GTA. Graduate Teaching Assistant. I teach the lab sections. And grade papers. On Friday nights."

"I know what a GTA is, dude." Suddenly, Tony stuck his hand out towards Bruce. "Tony Stark."

Bruce did not take his hand. "I know that." He paused. "You're in my chair. I have work to do."

Tony rolled his eyes, but did not move, instead retracting his arm and spinning around in the chair. "Did they collect your sense of humor to cover your tuition? Are you always this much of a dick?"

The answer to that was, if Bruce was honest with himself, kind of a 'yes.' There was the sarcasm for which he'd gained a reputation, and his temper was...short, and he tended towards misanthropy. But that didn't mean he wanted some random, drunk stranger to point out all of his character flaws. "Go to hell."

Tony cocked his head to one side before leveling Bruce with a look. After a moment, he stood. "Sure thing. They're waiting for my speech, after all." His tone was flat, completely different than it had been a moment ago, and he turned to leave.

"Wait," Bruce said, and Tony stopped. For some reason, Bruce felt like an asshole. Usually, the fact that he was _being_ an asshole didn't bother him, but now his conscience was poking at him, and he knew it wasn't going to rest until he'd made things right. "Can you even _give _a speech right now? You were just puking in a garbage can."

Tony shrugged. "Doubt anyone would notice. Like they're even going to know what I'm talking about anyway."

Bruce closed his eyes. He suspected Stark was probably right, but that didn't mean that Bruce should just let him go downstairs and potentially make himself look like an idiot. Granted, that probably wouldn't happen, but...

He sighed, and opened his eyes. He shot a quick look at the stack of exams on his desk, then looked at Tony. _Oh, to hell with it_. _Probably only going to get this chance once, Banner, would it kill you to just relax for once? _He stuck his hand out. "Bruce Banner. You wanna go get a drink?" Bruce wasn't usually a drinker—too many bad memories, too much shit tied up in it—but Stark's irresponsibility was apparently contagious. And Bruce already decided tonight was going to be the strangest night of his life, so he figured he might as well help it along towards achieving that goal.

Tony's whole face lit up, and Bruce had the sudden feeling that Stark was a deeply, profoundly lonely person. Because here he was, at almost 9:00 on a Friday night, and instead of doing something fun with his friends (_Does he even _have _any_?), Stark was avoiding giving a talk to a bunch of pretentious assholes who, frankly, probably couldn't even understand half of what he was trying to tell them. It was...kind of sad, actually.

Oblivious to Bruce's train of thought, Tony answered, "Fucking right I do. Now you're speaking my language."

Bruce ended up dragging him to the worst dive bar near campus, where they both got spectacularly drunk and traded increasingly wild theories about nuclear physics and undergraduate physics students. When the bar closed (unceremoniously kicking them both to the curb) they went their separate ways; Bruce back to his apartment, and Tony back to whatever posh hotel he was staying at.

In the morning, neither one of them remembered the previous night.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Part 2 potentially forthcoming. Reviews brighten my life.


	2. 2012

Warnings: language.

Thanks to my beta, irite, for making sure my verbs don't suck.

I do not own The Avengers, no matter how many times I watch the movie.

* * *

When Tony entered Bruce's lab on Monday morning, he found the physicist sitting at his computer, reading something on the screen with a frown on his face and an unusual set to his jaw, like he was thinking very, very hard about something.

"What's up?" Tony asked him, hoping that whatever Bruce was thinking very, very hard about was interesting. Because Tony was bored out of his mind, had been for the last six weeks post-Loki. There'd been no incidents, no world-saving to do, and Tony was trying to get back into the mundane swing of being a genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist. Six weeks in, though, it wasn't going so well, and he was looking for a new diversion. By this point, he was kind of desperate, actually. Pepper said he couldn't blow anything up, and that was one of the most fun, un-boring things he could do. In lieu of that, he was at a complete loss on how to entertain himself.

Bruce looked up. "Um, nothing. It's just...my Ph.D. advisor passed away on Saturday. The memorial service is tomorrow."

Tony wasn't quite sure what to say to that. It had never actually occurred to him that Bruce had a life pre-Hulk. Hell, it barely registered that Bruce had a life pre-six weeks ago. To Tony, it was kind of like Bruce had just sort of sprung into existence on the helicarrier, so the idea of the physicist having some kind of past was just...weird.

Weird enough to merit some investigation. "You went to Caltech, right?" Tony asked, drawing from what he'd read in Bruce's file.

Bruce nodded. "Yeah."

"Who was your advisor?"

Bruce swiveled his monitor around so Tony could see it. The headline on the news story he'd been looking at read, 'Ian Kirkpatrick, Giant of Nuclear Physics, Dies at 78.'

Tony made a thoughtful sound. "Kirkpatrick? Sounds kinda familiar."

"Well, he did do a lot of important work in the field," Bruce pointed out, turning his monitor back around. "Plus he wrote a lot of really accessible books on physics, popular press sort of stuff. Maybe you read one of those?"

With a raised eyebrow, Tony asked, "Are you insinuating that I couldn't understand his other work?"

Bruce laughed. "Of course not. I'm just saying..." he trailed off, then shrugged. "It's weird, you know? I spent almost six years working with the guy. I owe him a lot. Haven't really thought about him in fifteen years, and then, well, this." He sighed.

Tony cocked his head. "The memorial's tomorrow?" Bruce nodded. "You wanna go?"

Bruce looked up, surprised. After a moment, he shook his head. "I don't think so. It's not...practical. Or, um. Appropriate."

"What do you mean?"

Bruce sighed again. "I can't really travel, Tony. It's too dangerous. Something could go wrong, I could...you know. And there's, um. Kind of a lot of people who might try to kill me if they hear I'm out and about." He smiled ruefully. "Anyway...I don't think I belong there. It wasn't really Caltech's proudest moment when one of their alumni...um..."

And Bruce didn't really need to finish that sentence. What had happened at Culver wasn't exactly the sort of thing that any university wanted to be associated with.

Still, Tony wasn't one to let something like practicality or appropriateness get in _his_ way, and so he struggled with understanding Bruce's point. "Fuck that. If you want to go, go. Hell, I'll fly you there." His eyes lit up, "And I can protect you and shit. Keep an eye on things. And if things go badly, I'll keep an eye on the Other Guy, too." This was _exactly_ the kind of diversion Tony was looking for. It'd get him out of the Tower, maybe back into the suit, back to doing something _interesting_.

Bruce still seemed uncertain, so Tony declared, "We're doing this, Banner. When can you be ready to go?"

Resigned, now (because it was pointless to try and dissuade Tony once he'd made up his mind), Bruce said, "Couple of hours?"

"Great! I'll have them get the jet ready." Tony strode from the room, exceedingly pleased with how his day was turning out.

* * *

The flight across the country was uneventful. Bruce tried and failed to read, and ended up fidgeting nervously for the better part of the trip. All told, he asked some variation of 'are you sure this is a good idea' about ninety-four times, which Tony answered with more or less patient versions of 'of course I am.'

Tony was _always _sure, after all. And by the end of the flight, he'd mostly gotten Bruce to see things his way. Mostly.

They spent the night at Tony's house in Malibu, since it was only about an hour's drive from the university. Tony had pizza delivered for dinner and, after showing Bruce all the cool shit his house had to offer, they settled down to eat.

Halfway through his second beer (Bruce stuck to water, which Tony mocked him for—gently), Tony confessed, "Caltech hates me, you know."

Bruce raised an eyebrow and snorted, "Join the club. But what do you mean?"

"Four or five years ago, they were having this conference that I really wanted to present at. Great opportunity to show off some of my new work. So I had Pepper call them to set the whole thing up, and apparently the guy in charge said something like 'we'd prefer if Mr. Stark didn't come, we'd rather schedule more dependable and responsible speakers.'"

"Geez," Bruce said, smirking. "That's awfully harsh. What'd you ever do to them?"

Sheepishly, Tony admitted, "Nothing, I thought. I figured they were just worried about my reputation, you know? But, um, they weren't. I called back myself to chew them out, and the conference director says to me, 'after your _last_ scheduled speaking engagement, we're never inviting you back.' When I asked him, 'what speaking engagement?' he hung up on me. So I did some digging and _apparently _I was supposed to give a talk there a few years before that and I didn't show up. Or, rather, according to the newspaper article, I showed up, got drunk, and wandered off somewhere without ever, you know, actually giving a speech."

Bruce grinned. "You didn't."

Tony nodded. "I did. Well, I mean, I guess I did, I don't fucking remember. But, talk about holding a grudge, right? I mean, there were like, ten years in between there, give me some fucking credit. I've matured!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, believe it or not, I did manage to grow up—"

Bruce shook his head. "No, that's not what I mean. You were at Caltech fifteen years ago?"

Tony did some quick mental math. "You were, too. That's kinda weird. Too bad we didn't run into each other."

With a small shrug, Bruce said, "Not really." He gave a small, self-deprecating laugh.

"Why do you say that?"

Bruch shrugged again. "I don't...I was kind of an asshole, okay?"

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Dr. Banner, I find that incredibly hard to believe."

"Really?"

"No."

They both cracked up.

* * *

They made it to the memorial service without incident. They stayed in the back of the crowd and, despite their pitiful attempts at disguises (sunglasses, mostly) they weren't recognized.

Afterwards, they were making their way back towards the car when Bruce suddenly stopped.

Thinking the worst, Tony looked around quickly. "What's wrong? Do you see something?"

"What? No." Bruce gestured across the street at a dilapidated bar. "I just can't believe that's still there, is all. It seemed like it was about to fall over fifteen years ago." He sighed, looking nostalgic. "I loved that bar. Undergraduates hated it, so you could go there without having to deal with them."

Tony glanced over at it. "Looks, uh, charming." But then, booze was booze, and he was never one to pass up an opportunity. "Wanna get a drink?"

Bruce looked at him, disbelieving. "Don't you think that's awfully...brash? We're aiming for subtle. Also, it's 11:00 AM. And I don't drink—"

Tony waved him off and crossed the street. With an irritated huff, Bruce followed. "Tony, this wasn't in the plan—"

"Chill out, doc. It'll be fine. No one's going to recognize you. Or me. Or us." He strode into the bar, saying over his shoulder, "I'll get the drinks, you go grab us a spot, 'kay?"

Again acknowledging the futility of trying to dissuade Tony once he'd set his mind to something, Bruce slunk off towards a booth in the corner.

Tony walked up to the bar and ordered, "I'll take two of whatever doesn't suck, thanks."

The bartender glared at him and didn't move. Unperturbed by this, Tony added, "And if you could just send them over there when you're done," he gestured towards Bruce, "that'd be great."

He crossed the bar and slid into the booth across from Bruce. "Some people have absolutely no personality, you know that? And why's this place so empty, anyway? College bar and all, I figured it'd be packed."

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, shooting an apologetic look towards the bartender. "Might have something to do with the fact it's 11:00 on a Tuesday morning. Maybe."

Tony shrugged, but before he could answer, the waitress came over. "Hey, I've got two," she looked down at the drinks, "well, I'm not sure _what _these are. Jim says they definitely 'don't suck' though." She set them on the table. "Can I get you two anything else?"

"No thanks," Tony said, swirling his drink.

"All right, hun, let me know if you need anything." She turned and took a few steps before turning back around. "You know, I just gotta say, you two really do make a cute couple. I thought so the first time I saw you in here, and it's just so nice to see you're still together after all these years." She nodded at Tony, adding, "Especially with _your _reputation."

Tony furrowed his brow. "What? We're not—we're not a _couple_—"

Bruce honed in on the more important part, though. "When were we in here before?"

But Tony wasn't done yet. "And how do you know who I am?"

The waitress shook her head. "Doesn't everyone know that? Of course I recognized you, but it seemed rude to intrude back then, you two were having so much fun."

"_When _was that, exactly?" Bruce pressed.

The waitress shrugged. "I don't know, more than ten years ago. Maybe fifteen."

Tony and Bruce shared a long look before Bruce asked, "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Positive, hun. I never forget a face. Especially a famous one." She winked at Bruce. "And you're too cute to forget, too."

"Um, thanks," Bruce stammered. "I think."

"Anyway, sorry if I offended you," she said. "But, if you're not together, then..." she trailed off, looking at Bruce hopefully.

He missed her insinuation completely, too busy combing through his memories, trying to find the one that had Tony in it.

"Don't bother," Tony told her. "He's kinda off the market, anyway. His last relationship didn't end well."

"Yeah? That's too bad. It was worth a shot," the waitress muttered, before walking away.

Tony turned to Bruce. "Do you have _any _idea what she was talking about?"

Bruce shook his head slowly, dazed. "It must have been when you blew off that lecture, but..."

"Did something fuck with our memories, do you think? Like, maybe Loki? SHIELD? Some supervillain?"

"Alcohol, maybe?" Bruce supplied. "Seems more likely. I wasn't always a...teetotaller."

Tony grimaced. "What're the odds of that, though?"

"That we'd both forget? Pretty bad, I'd say." Bruce picked up his drink, taking a tiny sip. Tony, following his example, knocked his own drink back in one swallow.

"That," he declared, "definitely sucked." He gestured to the bartender for another round.

"Do you really think we were here fifteen years ago?" Bruce asked, making a face at the disgusting aftertaste his drink left in his mouth.

"I don't know why a fucking waitress would lie about something like that. But I think there's a more pressing issue at hand, here."

"What's that?"

"Why the _fuck _did she think we're together?"

Bruce groaned, running a hand through his hair. "And _that_'_s _what you fixate on."

"Well, yeah. Although," and Tony beamed, "This does kind of make you like, my oldest friend. Well, maybe not oldest. But you're definitely up there, Banner."

And underneath Bruce's pained expression was something that looked suspiciously like a pleased smile.

**End**

* * *

Thanks for reading! Leave a review, if you're so inclined. It might help me break out of this bout of writer's block…


End file.
